Let The Monster Rise
by Bane Sparhawk
Summary: Desc coming later. OCx?
1. Let The Monster Rise

Authors Note~ So like, this story is... random at best. I'm getting help from a friend, getting pointers as to what I should do with certain things (like building emotions etc) and like... yea. This _is_ a Repo! based fic, you'll figure out _how_ it's related later. Not yet though :B Well, please please review and comment, I need the tips etc to improve my writing. Also. I have low confidence in my work and need the boosts and criticism xD;;

Enjoy~~!

**.:Let The Monster Rise:.**

She stood at the edge of her balcony, testing the railing with one foot, pressing the wood with half of her weight. She cringed, as the old wood creaked loudly under the pressure. There was no way these beams would hold her weight, no matter how much she wished. She stepped back from the railing and looked around. She was on a small balcony, not much more than 4 feet long, there was a small table with 2 chairs, below the balcony were the other two. She was four floors up, the first three were unoccupied. Well, not entirely true, they held ghosts of her past. Every few months she moved farther and farther up the ten-story building. Except, now she wouldn't need to. She dragged the table to the balcony and eyeballed the distance between the top of the rail and the table top.

She nodded, the table would have to do. She stepped back again, pulling a chair in front of the table and sighed. _Might as well put the damn things to use_, she thought bitterly. _He never used them anyways, well, besides for throwing at me._ She sneered at the memories, and turned, opening the sliding glass door violently. Her rage, built up over so many years began to take it's toll. Red marks ran up both arms and one was visible on her neck. She frowned, spotting a mirror, seeing her reflection. How she hated it, the dark circles under bruised eyes, the almost constantly split lip. Everything in that mirror, was just another thing to hate. She furiously ripped it from the wall, and threw it to the ground, glass shards shattering the silence.

She growled, her green eyes flashing with rage, seeing his smug expression when he came home, _'Oh, looks like you screwed up again, _sweetheart_, just like every other time. You're so fucking pathetic, can't you do anything right?'_ he would then grab the nearest object and toss it at her. Not a playful toss, a hard toss with precise aim. She would need to be a lot faster than she was to evade it. Afterwards, when she was sobbing, threatening to fix things permanently, he would take her in his arms claiming that he had been kidding. That he hadn't meant to throw it so hard. Hadn't meant to hit her. All of it would be a lie, every time he said it it was a lie. But in her weakened state, she would trust him, trust that he would change. She quickly looked from the hallway to the kitchen. So many appliances, so many possible _weapons_.

She yelled, a primal yell of rage and hatred. She stormed through the small apartment, throwing and smashing anything he could use-- or had used-- against her. "Are you fucking _happy_ now, hmm? Happy to see the fucking monster you've created?" She grabbed up a delicate vase and threw it with all her might at the door, his only entrance. The glass shattered swiftly, falling from the door, clinking against the grayed linoleum that covered the floor. Next was the toaster. How many times had he eyed the damned metal box, wanting to use it as ammunition. The question was, why _hadn't_ he? She ripped the cord from the wall and chucked it at the glass coffee table with all her might. An explosion of glass interrupted her thoughts and she swiftly ducked under the counter. She heard the glass chunks embed themselves in the walls and furniture.

She shook her head, and felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. She looked down, seeing a chunk of glass in her leg. She cursed, pulling it gingerly from her calf, blood beading from the edge, and hissed as the cold air rushing from the still open door hit the wound. She limped down the hall to the washroom and fumbled underneath the medicine cabinet for the necessary antibiotics and a bandage. She went to stand up and hit the back of her head on the cabinet. She furrowed her brow, rubbing the back of her head. "Damnit, not again. Maybe today he won't have to follow through. I seem to be doing a pretty friggen good job of it myself," she stood, wincing and sat down to tend to her leg. After a few moments of fumbling to open the bandage package she poured some rubbing alcohol over the cut, hissing as it burned away the bacteria from the glass and air. A few tears fell onto her leg, as it stung but she didn't make a sound. She finished dressing the wound and stood, testing the bandage.

She took a few steps into the hallway and paused, hearing a key enter the door's lock. She ran to the kitchen and crouched just as the door swung open. A man stood there, broad of shoulder, and swayed as if the world were moving miles faster than he was and it took all his might to stay erect. She inhaled sharply hearing him call out her name, pleading with her to show her 'pretty little face'. She reached a hand up on top of the counter and whimpered as she sliced her index finger with a knife... the knife! That's what she could use. She spun it as quietly as she could and gripped the handle. She was pissed, and he would finally be repaid for all of the pain he had put her through.

She swallowed hard, rising to her feet but staying crouched. She reached the end of the bar and began to rise to her feet. "I'm over here darling," if she could only get him near the door she could escape, but if all else failed she always had the table on the balcony. She strode forwards, holding the knife behind her back. She saw him begin to lurch forwards, and stopped, needing him to continue his molasses-slow march. He reached the edge of the counter and she began to move, to the right, trying to get around him.

She hit the wall, unaware of the broken bottle in his hand. He lurched dangerously close, his alcohol-stained breath causing her to cough. She continued moving, inch-by-inch, towards the wide open door. He swung his arm in a lazy arc, the broken bottle grazing her arm. She hissed and ran to the side, the door within arms reach. She reached out a hand to the door jam, trying to pull herself into the open. She fell backwards, her arm having been violently jerked back. She hit the floor wincing as her lover stood over her, swaying once again.

She quickly pushed herself up, pain radiating from her left shoulder. She stood, her back to the door and cautiously began taking steps backwards, trying to reach the sanctuary of the hallway. He laughed, a deep malicious laugh, and lurched forwards once again, swinging the bottle wildly. She swiftly stepped backwards to avoid the glass and ran forwards, slamming her shoulder into his oversized stomach. He gasped, the air having been knocked from his lungs and fell to the floor. The bottle rolled from his hand and spun across the linoleum, pointing towards the girl. She stood and stumbled backwards, her knife in his side. She blinked, pulling the knife from his side and stumbled backwards as blood splattered to the floor.

She ran to the door, glancing backwards, tears flowing from her eyes. The man's body was still, barely breathing, as she ran through the hallway. Reaching the elevator she crashed, hitting the back wall and collapsing. Her mind was racing, thoughts of her spouse flooded through. Had she made the right decision? Of course. He had beaten her, used her, and lied to her. She had to get out of there but, here her thoughts paused—not daring to accept hat she had done, had it been worth it to leave him bleeding on the floor? She looked up, screams and pounding echoing through her head; she froze, fearing for herself more than anything. She crawled to the console of buttons and pounded on the one that said 'Ground'. As the elevator began it's descent, a dark haired woman frantically pleaded with her, with the elevator, to save her. She crawled back into the corner and shut her eyes, blocking out the screams.

A//N::: MUCHOS THANK YOUS TO DAN AND VIRAL FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS!

Okay, caps abuse WAS needed there people. These two are so amazing. They've helped me do this, and you all should LOVE THEM TO DEATH BECAUSE OF THEIR AWESOMENESS. But seriously, I have no idea when Chapter 2 will be up, I'm going to L.A. tonight for a Repo! Shadowcast. I love you all~~

Bane-chan.


	2. We Started This Wait, What?

A//N;; So like, props go to Viral for helping me with this chapter. She's made out of epic win 3

And makes up for my lack of expertise when it comes to the English language. Which is, sadly, my first language [strike]and[/strike] yet I still suck at it.

We Started This Opera… Wait, What?

She opened her eyes, the elevator having come clunking to a halt. Before her stood a dark figure, towering over her huddled form. She scrambled past its legs, on her hands and knees. She turned, and saw the elevator doors close as a blue glow illuminated a tired face. She gasped, seeing the bag of tools set on the floor. With a swift motion, the scalpel so well known to 90-day delinquents was pulled from the black leather bag.

She pulled herself to the metal grating that shut off the elevator shaft, her legs weak from fear and realization of what had happened. She closed her eyes; her fingers entwined with the metal and she cringed. The woman was begging again, the weeping so loud it echoed throughout the building. Pleading with the man to give her a few more days… Just another 90-day delinquent; so many of them had lived- and died- here in this building. So many perfect bodies cut down in their artificial prime.

Just as swiftly and erratically as it had started, the sobbing stopped. Silence filled her ears and it felt right. No one moved; no one talked. Heavy footsteps echoed and hit the metal floor of the elevator. A button was pressed and the engines whirred into life. She pushed herself up, using the grate as a handhold before taking a few steps from it, and leaning on the wall. Her cheeks were flushed with exhaustion, completing the comedown from her adrenaline high. The sound of grating metal filled the floor as the elevator came to a stop.

She watched as the figure cleaned the crimson blood from the scalpel, she smirked, watching as the white cloth turned red. The color leaked through the fibers, and stained inch after inch of the scrap. She looked up at the masked face hungrily. She wanted to be that, wear the leather, smell the blood, and_ taste_ the _death_. The mask moved, now pointed to her face and she inhaled sharply, and took a quick inventory of all of her payments. Now sure she was paid up on all of them she relaxed, exhaling. _Shit, what do I do, did he find Zinri's body? Shit, does he know it was me?_ Her thoughts raced, one after the other. Fear and awe marked her expression as she stood before the fabled Repo Man.

She had known he existed but had never seen him, just heard the stories of the "_mysterious deaths"_ within the apartment building. All of the GeneCo cleanup crews to dispose of the bodies, and now the fourth floor held two, only one of which had been taken by the Repo Man. She watched as he tossed the bloodied cloth to the side and brandished the scalpel. She stepped backwards into the wall in an attempt to distance herself from the monster before her. She paused, her thoughts screeching to a halt. _Is he truly a _monster_? Did I not just commit the same deed without an order to do so? _She stood straight, staring him in the eyes.

His green eyes locked onto hers, his arms tensing. When he got stared down like that it generally meant an unhappy relative or his next assignment. He held his scalpel in a tightly clenched fist. He took a tentative step forward; ready to judge her reaction; his scalpel arm ready to be thrust forward if the need arose.

The girl was short, much shorter than the Repo Man at his six-foot-six. At most he would have guessed five feet; maybe shorter. His eyes traced her figure; she was well built, not too large nor too small. A nice, average looking girl.; she had dark blue eyes, the color of a storm at sea, and dark brown, shoulder length wavy hair. Her dark green shirt was torn and bloody, the sleeve edges stiff with dried blood. Smears of crimson adorned her face and clumped her hair. There were tear tracks through the blood across her cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and puffy.

She stared up at him, mouth agape. She was terrified yet in awe at the sight before her. But before she could say anything… "Incoming message from Zinri Focker. Incoming message from Zinri Focker." She cursed under her breath as her wrist communicator squawked. She slowly pressed the answer button.

"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU GODDAMN _WHORE_. YOU GET YOUR GODDAMN WHORE-ASS BACK UP TO THIS GODDAMN APARTMENT AND FUCKING SAY YOUR SORRY. I WANT YOU ON YOUR _KNEES_ YOU LITTLE SLUT. YOU WILL FUCKING BEG FOR ME TO STOP HITTING YOU. I WILL. MAKE. YOU. _BLEED _YOU LITTLE _BITCH_."

She quickly hung up on him, glaring, "We'll se about that you little bastard," she muttered. She approached the Repo Man and bowed her head, sneaking a glance into his bag of tools. "Mind if I borrow one of these? I have something I need to finish," she smirked, her eyes flashing dangerously. She cautiously reached out a hand to the bag, smirking as her thoughts traversed into dangerous territory.

He looked at her, worriedly, and reached down to close his bag, "I, uh, I think you should come with me miss. Just… this way." He zipped up his bag and led the way out the front doors. He had grabbed her by the arm and was tugging gingerly to keep her walking. She stumbled a few times, her short legs unable to match his long strides. They reached the car and a heavily mustache-laden man opened the back door of the car for her. He looked slightly confused but said nothing.

She sat awkwardly in the nice car, now noticing there was a thick gash in her arm. She frowned and applied pressure to it to slow the bleeding. The Repo Man climbed into the front of the car and sat alongside the mustachioed ((A/N, … that's a real word?!)) man. He seemed to be conversing with someone over his wrist communication device, but she heard nothing, there was a thick, soundproof glass barrier between the two sections of the car.

Nathan had dialed Rotti on his communicator and was smiling, "Sir, I think I've found our new underling for the Repo Training. She has potential, and… You know the man who was my next assignment? A, uhm, Mister Focker? It seems that the underling has had previous… relations with him. I'll need to run her by the infirmary, but it doesn't seem as if she's retained an serious damage."

"This all sounds good Nathan but… a woman? She couldn't handle what you Repo Men go through on a daily basis."

"I'm sure she can handle herself, sir."

"What was her name again? I want to have a reference check run on her… make sure she isn't _overdue_ on any payments."

"Her name is… uh… hold for a second please, sir." Nathan paused the conversation and lowered the barrier. "Excuse me, miss. What's your name?"

She stared up at him and stayed silent for a moment before muttering "Katherine Jacobine." Nathan nodded and raised the barrier once more.

"Her name is Katherine Jacobine, sir. Can you make sure there are clean clothes waiting for us in the infirmary?"

"For you, Nathan, anything."


End file.
